


come sideways

by sinequanon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: When the Hales take over the long-abandoned Stilinski Castle, with its strange servants and traditions, Derek finds that there is much more than the rumored ghosts hiding in the west wing.





	come sideways

The castle was not remarkable in any particular way. It was not the biggest or the loveliest, its grounds had long since fallen into ruin, and no one who had ever stepped inside would have reasonably called it a home.

It had been glorious once, when the Stilinskis had held the crown, but the slow death of the queen and the subsequent murder of her husband a few months later had left a hole that had yet to be truly filled. Gerard had tried to claim the castle as his, only to be driven out after barely a year for meddling with the ghosts in what the townspeople referred to as the “forbidden wing” of the palace. Why anyone would want to live in a place like this was beyond Derek, a sentiment echoed by his family if the looks on their faces were any indication.

Amazingly, those who had served the royal family continued to maintain the castle as much as possible after its abandonment, much the the confusion of all of the other kingdoms in the area. Derek's parents, who had long been interested in expanding their territory, had taken years to patiently negotiate with the seneschal of the castle, even going so far as to promise to abdicate the throne should a true heir emerge. Derek had laughed when he had heard the stipulation, only to be hissed at by his sister Laura for being an unsentimental jackass. As if it wasn't already enough that the Hales had agreed to employ all of the servants currently squatting in the castle.

Now, Derek watched the servants scurrying around the castle and wondered exactly what it was about this place that made them want to stay even when they weren't being paid.

<> <>

“They're going to find out sooner or later, I tell you, what with those wolf noses,” Cook admonished, as she stirred the evening soup.

Heather sighed at the familiar conversation. “How do you propose we get them out, then?”

“Which ones?” another girl asked, barely looking up from her potatoes. Personally, she’d thought they'd done well enough for themselves without werewolves coming in, though no doubt the king and queen were rolling in their graves at how far their beloved castle had fallen.

“No one is going to force those poor children to do anything,” Cook clarified. “If I have to go after the alpha myself armed with nothing but a frying pan, I will.”

“I hardly think that's necessary,” Heather soothed. “The family has promised to leave the west wing vacant, and Stiles and Lydia are clever enough not to get caught.” The two were very clever, but they would need all the help they could get to remain hidden from the Hales.

“Let Scott know that the Hales’ servants will be arriving tomorrow, so we'll need to meet tonight to work out a plan,” Cook said, ladling out enough for the family and setting the rest aside for later. She gave the nervous group gathered in the kitchen a reassuring smile. “We are going to let this family restore this castle, until such time as our Stiles can take it from them. So, be as kind and respectful as our liege would be, and everything will turn out all right.”

<> <>

The Hale family had only been in the castle for ten days, but they could already tell that the servants that had come with the previously magnificent palace were a bit odd. They did their duties well, but they were difficult to find and seemed to always be scurrying about to various places where the wolves could not find them. Of course that didn't mean the posts were empty, but it did mean that the castle seemed a little more vacant than most. Still, the Hale servants spoke highly of their Stilinski counterparts, and Derek could find no real reason to complain, even if it seemed like they were hiding something.

They did their jobs well, but with a quirkiness that was baffling. Derek had taken to counting how often an extra bowl of soup was set aside, or a cupcake or a blanket was left in the hallway to the west wing. Derek, Laura, and Cora had taken turns to try and catch whoever was taking the things being left in the hallway, only to come up frustratingly empty-handed.

The Hale children weren't the only ones to notice, but their mother put it off as being the quirks of a grieving staff, and Peter was too intrigued by the mystery of who might live in the west wing to really be bothered by disappearing pastries.

“I just don't understand why we're not allowed in the west wing of our own castle,” Derek complained one night at dinner, sulkily biting into a hot roll.

“According to Jenny, the Stilinski servants say that the west wing is haunted, and that we should leave it for the ghosts,” Cora said. “It's some sort of tradition or something.”

Derek snorted, but his father shook his head. “Actually, that tradition is real, and an old one. I visited this castle once as a child. Alexandra Stilinski herself told me the story of the west wing and the spirits that live there. The Queen never confirmed it, but my mother believed that it hid a portal to the elven lands.”

In fact, the rumor that the Stilinski family had been part Elvish had persisted for more than a century, considering that until recently, the family had always been uniquely beautiful and long-lived. Even now, people spoke of the family in reverent whispers, claiming that the family had been “just too good” to remain long in the human world.

“Assuming that it's not just superstitious nonsense, the servants might just be hiding some sort of bootleg operation,” Peter offered nonchalantly. “How else were they maintaining the castle?”

“Magic!” Cora squealed delightedly. “I have to visit the wing, now.”

Talia glared at the rest of her family, flashing her eyes to ensure obedience. Truthfully, she was as interested in the mystery as the rest of them, though she’d never admit it. “Malcolm and Heather have given us no reason not to trust them. Until that changes, there will be no more visiting the west wing, do you understand me?”

“But Mom--”

“Eat your potatoes.”

<> <>

Sometimes, they felt like the ghosts people claimed they were. They were trapped like insects in amber, unable to move forward or backward, always waiting for someone to set them free. They were a part of both and neither world at the same time, unable to truly save themselves or move on.

Sometimes, when the pain of losing their family grew to great, Stiles and Lydia would crawl into bed and silently cry onto each other's shoulders.

Most days, though, the two of them rose with almost military precision and combed through their makeshift library for anything that could help them. They sat together, offering each other reassuring smiles or touches, but the years had all but stolen their voices, for all that they truly don't need them to communicate with one another.

Lydia came to Stilinski Castle as a little girl; a pale, elfin-like child who latched onto Stiles with an intensity that surprised everyone but young Stiles himself. Within a week, the two were running through the halls hand-in-hand and getting into all sorts of mischief.

As they grew, the pair of them roamed the castle and its grounds for anything that would pique their interests: they learned from Cook and the gardeners just as much as they learned from their tutors. They learned to sew, and create salves and tinctures, and tried their hands at almost every job there was to be found in the castle.

Each night, as she tucked them into bed, Stiles's mother would teach them a tiny bit of magic and tell them the tales of her homeland. Every so often, some relative of the queen would visit, only to find themselves shadowed by Stiles and Lydia, eager to hear of the wonders and stories of their travels.

King John often joked that the vast majority of ambassadors (and not just his wife's relatives) that visited his kingdom actually came to see the children, and he wasn't far from the truth. More than one skeptical visitor had been won over under the adorable inquisitiveness of the pair, and John wasn't ashamed to admit that many treaties had been forged after an afternoon spent in the west wing.

It was hard to believe that everything had fallen apart in only a few months, leaving two fifteen-year-old children behind in a castle darkened with sorrow.

<> <>

No one was surprised when Gerard Argent claimed Stilinski Castle as his own. Every level-headed person in the kingdom suspected the man of orchestrating the deaths of the royal family; the only question had been how long it would take the vile man to seize the palace as his own.

He wasted no time at all.

The palace servants warned Gerard away from the forbidden wing, only to be brushed aside for following their archaic traditions in his esteemed presence. The once warm and welcoming halls of Stilinski Castle were soon filled with gold and silver and silks befitting such a cold and ostentatious king as Gerard Argent. The servants could do little but watch the horrible changes and pray that their liege would be avenged.

Almost immediately, Gerard’s daughter Kate claimed the forbidden wing as her own, citing its whimsical and mysterious aura as its attraction, and setting about to alter it to her preferences. All too soon, however, she was shown the error of her ways. At first, the changes that she made in the daytime would simply be undone in the night. Princess Kate was incensed, but kept attempting in vain to make her alterations. Books were burned and tapestries torn, only to reappear unharmed soon after. New furniture was brought in, only to fall apart at inopportune moments.

Little Allison spent hours searching for the ghosts, often returning with stories of tea parties and hide-and-go-seek with two quiet, pale people who watched her with bright eyes and sad smiles. But for every treasure her niece found in the west wing, Kate saw only dust and decay.

It was only when Kate attempted to remove the small shrine that was left for the family spirits that things truly changed for the invading family. One night, Kate woke to find herself nearly strangled by vines suddenly growing from her ceiling while dozens of thorns pricked her limbs. Another night, she was almost crushed to death by an unseen force. A third, she was kept awake by screaming that no one else could hear. On and on it went, the tortures various and inescapable, until Kate replaced the shrine.

Gerard, of course, was convinced that the servants were tormenting his daughter, and whipped two serving girls in retaliation, in full view of the court.

That night, Gerard began coughing up a black goo which would dribble out of his mouth every time the man tried to speak, and his body was wracked with such pain that he was soon confined to bed.

The battle between the Argents and the ghosts lasted another fortnight before the castle was free once again, as it would remain for close to a decade.

(Prince Christopher and his daughter, Allison, the only well-liked members of the Argent family, remained unharmed while Gerard and Kate were forcibly driven from the castle. Allison made it a point to say goodbye to the residents of the west wing before they left.)

<> <>

Over the next few months, the former Stilinski Castle slowly returned to much of its former glory. The Hales were fair rulers, and the people accepted them with the same kindness that had been so well regarded in King Stilinski.

The Hales and their servants quickly grew to accept the original staff and their quirks over what the Hale servants affectionately referred to as the “ghost wing”. Even Talia took a turn leaving an item for the ghosts to collect on the half-month, and had been delighted to discover her gift had been accepted in the night.

Strange noises and missing items were shrugged off with rueful smiles, and the the original staff slowly began discussing among themselves the possibility of sharing the secret with the new residents of the castle.

_“They could help us!”_

_“They're magical, too, you know. Sort of.”_

_“What if they want to try and get rid of Stiles and Lydia?”_

_“You know how Queen Claudia was; what if we accidentally start some sort of war or something?”_

_“We have to do something. Those poor children can't live like that forever.”_

_“They're not children anymore.”_

_“All the more reason to help them.”_

The Stilinski staff decided amongst themselves to casually mention the old stories around the Hales and their help, and found everyone remarkably receptive. Derek and Cora in particular were frequent visitors to both the kitchens--to listen to Heather’s stories--and the library, trying to suss out the truth of the many fairy tales floating around the castle.

Even Uncle Peter got in on the fun, spending many an hour drawing up plans with Cora for crossing from their home to the land of the Elves, debating the supplies that they would need and the time it would take to get there.

The night that the King and Queen started suggesting possible ambassadors, should their children ever find this portal to another land, the seneschal had to hide a smile.

<> <>

Greta Hale was, despite her age, an inquisitive little thing that loved exploring her aunt’s new castle. On any given day, the six-year-old could be found anywhere she could climb, from inside the laundry baskets to over the garden fence. She was fearless despite her humanity, and was adept at evading whoever was responsible for watching her, no matter how diligent.

She, too, loved the stories they told in the kitchen, and the cider and cookies that Cook handed out in the evenings. Her favorite characters, by far, were Stiles and Lydia, and she resolved to learn everything as they had, much to Cook’s amusement.

Sometimes, Greta noticed that people would be sad when they talked about Stiles and Lydia, like they were real people, and it made her curious. She asked Malcolm once, but the look the seneschal had gotten on his face had been so sad that she had run off without getting an answer. Her Uncle Peter, who knew everything, told her that the Stilinskis had a son, but that he had died as a child. Greta believed him, but something felt funny about the whole situation, and she wanted answers.

The best way to find out the truth, she decided, was to ask the ghosts about it. After all, ghosts could go anywhere, and do anything, so they probably knew even more than her Uncle Peter.

Deciding that she couldn't go to the west wing without some sort of gift, she crept to the kitchen for some chocolate chip cookies one night and, armed with treats and a flashlight, worked her way toward the forbidden wing.

Greta encountered no problems, and after an hour of wandering through much of the west wing of the castle, she could honestly say that the whole thing was awesome. Sure, there was lots of dust and it was super quiet, but it had a huge library and fountains with pretty tile and even what looked like a pool. Inside!

It was the coolest thing ever!

She hadn't seen any ghosts yet, but she had found a big bedroom with girl’s clothes on one side and boy’s clothes on the other, and she wondered if this was where the ghosts slept during the day. Both beds were surprisingly soft, and each had a worn teddy bear sitting on top, and Greta decided that this was as good a place as any to wait for the ghosts to return.

Setting her gift aside, the little girl chose a bed, and in no time at all, drifted off to sleep.

<> <>

Greta Hale woke up to humming, and soft fingers combing through her hair.

“Oh,” she said, blinking up at the man and woman sitting on the bed with her. “Hello. My name's Greta. I brought you a present.” She sat up, frowning a little when the petting and humming stopped. “I hope you like chocolate chip.”

The man smiled and took a cookie, chomping on it with exaggerated relish and making her laugh. The woman took another, broke it in half, and handed the second half to Greta.

“Are you the ghosts?” she asked, when the cookies were done.

A sad curl of the lips was her only answer.

“I hope you don't mind that we live here, now. Aunt Talia is trying to make it pretty again. Is that okay?”

She let out a relieved sigh when both of them nodded. “Can I come and visit you again? I promise I won't be any trouble. Or, do you want me to bring you anything?” She did her best to hide her yawn, but she knew that both of them saw it. Instead of answering, the man gathered her in his arms and carried her back through the dusty rooms and passageways, Greta nodding off against his chest.

Stiles carried her all the way back to her own room, tucking her in and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before silently creeping back to Lydia with a smile on his face.

<> <>

“I met the ghosts last night,” Greta announced at breakfast the next morning. “They're really nice, and really pretty. They don't talk, though,” she finished, shoving a sausage in her mouth with gusto.

“What?” Laura questioned, at the same time Cora asked, “Why didn't you take me?” Talia, though, looked concerned.

“Greta, honey, you know that you're not supposed to go there. It could be dangerous.”

The youngest Hale snorted. “It could be, but it's not. They didn't get mad that I accidentally took a nap in one of their beds, and they shared cookies with me.” She made a face at her Uncle Peter, who was sniffing at her hair, and pointed her fork at her cousins. “It was like in Cook’s stories. The lady had shiny red hair and the man’s eyes sparkled like gemstones; you know, like Stiles and Lydia.”

Laura opened up her mouth to remind her cousin that the stories weren't real, only to jump as one of the serving girls accidentally dropped a tray. Hayden turned bright red and raced out the door before anyone could stop her, leaving the startled family staring after her.

“As far as I know,” Peter observed, “ghosts don't have scents. I can smell two new people on darling Greta. I believe, sister dear, that we should solve this mystery as soon as possible.”

Around the table, everyone agreed.

<> <>

This was not what Derek had in mind when he had agreed that the family needed to solve the mystery of the ghost wing. But here he was, trailing his younger cousin as she worked her way through the many rooms of the wing in question, searching for the ghosts.

It was definitely amazing, just like Greta had said. It was easy to see that most of the rooms hadn't been used in years, but others were well-kept, and Derek recognized more than one trinket that had been left as a gift littering the used rooms. He was also surprised to note that many of the things had been changed and repurposed for reasons which Derek could only guess.

Ghosts or not, whoever lived here was either extremely intelligent, or crazy, or both. Even Uncle Peter would be impressed.

Greta quietly pointed things out as they passed, Derek following her lead, until he stopped dead at the sight of the grotto.

“This is the pool, Derek. Isn't it pretty?”

It was beautiful, and not the type of thing one would expect to see inside a castle. And yet, here it was.

It looked like something carved out of one of the fairy tales that the servants liked to tell. The walls of the cave practically sparkled, and the water was so blue that Derek glanced up, expecting to see the sky. He felt a tiny, insistent tug in his gut, and before he realized what he was doing, he had stripped off his shirt and stepped into the warm water.

“Derek?”

Before he could answer, something wrapped around his ankle and yanked, smashing his head against the rocks on the way down. The last thing he heard was Greta’s scream before everything went black.

<> <>

Derek woke up to the face of an angel leaning over him and--a teddy bear in his arms? He shook his head, trying to clear it, only to moan and clutch the bear harder when his head swam. A warm hand cupped his cheek, and Derek leaned unconsciously into it.

“What happened?” he groaned, forcing his eyes open once more. Luckily, the angel was still there, his huge eyes watching Derek with concern.

“You fell in the pool, but Stiles saved you. He even let you hold his teddy bear, isn't that nice?” Greta’s face swam into view for a moment, before she turned to stare at the angel with something akin to hero worship in her eyes. “He patched you up, and Lydia went to talk to the thing in the pool, I think.” She glanced at Stiles, who nodded, and then jumped on the bed to smack a kiss to Derek's forehead. “I'm going to help Lydia, okay?” she said, and ran off before Derek could call out for her to stay.

It took another minute for Derek's head to clear and Stiles--if Greta was to be believed--waited patiently for the wolf to pull himself together.

“Thank you for saving me,” he rasped out, only to cringe at how horrible he sounded. Stiles merely smiled, though, and handed Derek a bowl of the stew that Cook had made two days before. Their fingers brushed, and Derek felt his wolf perk up at the touch, though he pushed it aside in favor of getting answers.

So, instead of listening to his wolf and grabbing the other man’s hand, he opened his mouth and asked, “Why are you squatting in my family's castle?”

The flash of anger moved through Stiles’s eyes so quickly that Derek almost doubted that he had seen it, but then Stiles was ushering him out of bed and through the passageways, and Derek spun back to apologize...only to find himself tripping forward, taking Stiles down hard to the ground under him.

The two of them laid there for a moment before Stiles made a small sound of pain, and Derek scrambled backwards, only to be stopped in his retreat by who he assumed was Lydia, glaring at him with judgement in her eyes.

Derek was not ashamed to admit that the look made him highly uncomfortable.

“I don't care why you're living here,” he announced, forcing himself to ignore Lydia's look and scooping Stiles off of the floor, “we're going to visit Deaton. He’ll fix you up, and we can talk about the rest of it later.”

Lydia stepped forward, but Derek growled at her and moved Stiles out of her reach, all but shoving her aside when she tried to take Stiles from him.

“It's okay, Lydia,” Greta tried to reassure the woman, “he’s just on the other side of the castle.”

Neither Hale noticed the anguish in Lydia's eyes as Derek carried her cousin away.

<> <>

In all fairness, Stiles wasn't really hurt that badly. There would likely be some soreness and nasty bruises, but that was hardly worth worrying over. The moment that the two of them had started to fall, however, Derek's wolf started howling as he he were going to crush the other man to death, and Derek could do little but follow his wolf’s orders to take the other man to a healer.

Derek with the sight of someone in his arms would have pricked the ears of anyone roaming the halls of the palace. Derek carrying a stranger, Greta at his heels, was definitely noticed. Derek couldn't have cared less.

He wished he understood what was happening. He had a man in his arms that was most assuredly not a ghost, yet lived in an abandoned section of the castle and pretended to be a ghost. Did the staff know that their ghosts were actually living? Did they know that there were two people pretending to be the characters from the stories that they told taking advantage of their kindness? Were Stiles and Lydia taking advantage, or were they just desperate? He was sure that his mother wouldn't throw them into the street--

Derek was drawn out of his musings by Greta’s cry of, “Derek, STOP!”

He turned to his cousin to see what was wrong, only to freeze at the sound of the stuttered gasping that was coming from the man in his arms.

“Take him back, Derek! You have to take him back,” the little girl all but sobbed at him. “It's hurting him!”

Stiles looked awful; much worse than he had just after the fall. He looked mostly dead, and Derek just managed to bite back the whine building in the back of his throat as Greta tried to push him back toward the west wing.

“It keeps getting worse,” she said, punching him to get his attention. “The farther we go, like in Heather’s story. Don't let him die, Derek.”

Derek watched with horror as Stiles started trembling, letting out one last puff of air before going silent.

Ignoring the growing audience around him, Derek began to run.

<> <>

Stiles still hadn't opened his eyes by the time they made it back to the west wing but he looked almost normal again, and Derek couldn't help but sag with relief when Lydia barely smacked him before pushing him down on the bed next to Stiles.

He wasn't sure what had happened, but Greta had told him that Stiles had gotten worse the farther he moved from his sanctuary. The anger in Lydia's eyes when he had asked about it had not been directed at him, but had taken him aback regardless. It certainly explained why the two of them didn't just steal everything they needed, rather than relying on gifts from others in palace. He hated the thought that Stiles had to depend on the whims of others for survival.

Derek was content to lay there with Stiles until the other man had woken; however, he needed to go back and reassure Greta. He would also undoubtedly have to explain to his parents why he had been running through the hallways like a madman sooner rather than later. He took a few moments to make sure the other man was comfortable, breathing in his scent as deeply as he could, before speaking to the woman still perched on the end of the bed. “You're the Lydia in the stories, aren't you? Stiles, too?”

She squeezed his hand.

“You're trapped?”

His stomach cramped uncomfortably when she nodded.

“Can we save you?”

She gestured toward the books by the bedside table with an arched brow and a shrug, as if to say “what do you think we’ve been trying to do?” He looked at the pile dealing with curses and spells and potions, and had an idea. “Can I tell my family?”

She gave him a long, considering look before nodding, and Derek breathed a sigh of relief. He gave himself a few more seconds to soak in Stiles's presence before leaning over to place a soft kiss on the other man’s lips--ignoring Lydia's startled intake of breath--before reluctantly pulling himself out of bed and heading back out to deal with his family.

<> <>

Miraculously, Derek managed to avoid everyone other than Greta up until dinner time, mostly because no one would ever expect him to visit Deaton on his own. He spent the next two hours quizzing the emissary on spells and curses and how to break them. Deaton's apprentice, Scott, lit up as soon as Derek mentioned having seen the ghosts, but kept quiet otherwise, and excused himself as soon as Derek mentioned magic. When Derek suggested that the west wing was cursed, and told him about Stiles's illness, Deaton had merely hummed at him and suggested that maybe it was the people--rather than the place--that had been cursed.

Deaton told him the story of Queen Alexandra, and how many believed that she had not been human. As the story went, Alexandra was a curious sort, and had passed through a portal to the human world. She found herself in a cave where an injured man was hiding from Argent assassins. Alexandra helped the man while he recovered, and they fell in love. The two married, and built the castle around the cave where they first met, both as a memento and as a way for the Queen to travel to her homeland whenever she wished.

“I saw the cave,” Derek told him. “Stiles had to save me from the water.”

Deaton looked alarmed momentarily before he asked, “What did you say?”

“Stiles,” Derek said slowly, “is the name of the boy from the abandoned wing. There's a girl, too, named Lydia.” Hadn't Deaton ever heard the stories?

The emissary immediately turned and began pulling books off of his shelves. “The price for this kind of curse, to make so many forget,” he muttered, flipping through pages--

“What curse?”

“We weren't the only kingdom that the Argents threatened,” he sighed, setting the books aside for the moment. “There were two royal children in the palace when Queen Claudia died: her son, Stiles, and her niece, Lydia. They were favorites of most everyone they met, and by all accounts were excellent judges of character. They made it no secret that they despised Gerard Argent.”

“I thought that Gerard was negotiating with them?”

“That was the rumor,” Deaton agreed. “And yet, the king was murdered and barely cold in his grave before Gerard moved in, and no one thought to mention the Crown Prince or his cousin?”

“So, how do we break the curse?”

Deaton took two books off of his pile and handed them to Derek. “That's what we're going to find out.”

<> <>

Derek was well-aware that the eyes of his family were on him as he entered the dining room, but he kept his head down and waited until after Heather and Hayden had set down all of the dishes before speaking. “Ten years ago, Gerard Argent murdered King Stilinski and cursed his son.” He looked up and met his parents’ eyes. “He and his cousin Lydia have been trapped in the west wing for the last ten years, and I think they’d like to leave now.”

In any other situation, seeing his mother drop her fork in surprise would have been noteworthy. Right now, he just hoped she believed him. Her eyes widened and she looked around the table, searching for anyone who knew more about what Derek was saying. Peter, of course, was the most likely candidate, but he looked as blindsided by the revelation as Talia.

Derek's father, however, looked surprisingly thoughtful. “The boy you were carrying, is he all right? I assume he is one of the ‘ghosts’ in question.”

“It's true then?” Laura squealed. “You were running through the palace with a boy in your arms?”

“Laura,” Talia admonished. “That's not important at the moment.”

“But--” Talia shot her daughter a look. “Fine,” she said, though her grin implied that Derek was going to be ambushed later.

“Now can I visit the west wing?” Cora asked. “Since there are actually people there? We have to be able to see them to get them out.”

“It doesn't work that way,” Heather interrupted, startling everyone. The family had been so focused on discussing amongst themselves that the had forgotten the presences of Heather and Hayden, who had both quietly remained in the room while the family had dinner. “They're only there because we don't want to let them go,” she finished lamely.

“They're not dead,” Derek reiterated.

“No. But…” the maid grimaced. “The grotto? It's a portal to the Elvish lands. It's the only reason they've survived, but it doesn't work properly, so we give them what we can. I know it doesn't make sense, but…”

“How do we break the curse?”

Heather’s eyes hardened, and Derek suddenly realized how the Stilinski servants survived on their own for so little long. “Gerard Argent needs to die.”

Peter's sudden smile was sharp. “Excellent. I volunteer.”

<> <>

Discovering that Stiles was the true heir to the Stilinski kingdom changed very little for the palace over the next few months. The truth spread quickly, but glares from Cora, Derek, and Talia kept people from harassing Stiles and Lydia, though the number of “offerings” grew considerably.

For their parts, Stiles and Lydia remained as elusive as ever, preferring to remain out of sight. Derek took his family to visit the pair one at a time, starting with Cora--who announced to a bemused looking Stiles that she was going to move into the fountain room--and ending with his mother, who pulled the shocked duo into hugs and ardently promised to help them.

Derek had no doubt that Peter would get the job done, but it irked him far more than it bothered Lydia and Stiles, who were often subjected to his impassioned rants on the unfairness of their situation.

Four months after Peter had left, Derek and Laura were spending the day watching Stiles and Lydia trim the vines that grew liberally throughout the wing. The siblings had offered to help, only for Lydia to laugh when vines immediately dropped from the ceiling to wrap around their ankles. The sound was so unexpected that Derek almost forgot that the plant had wrapped around him and tried to step forward, only to held in place by the foliage. A chiding look from Lydia had the vines retreating, and the woman rolled her eyes and gestured toward the small sitting area away from the plants.

Derek and Laura took the hint, deciding to keep up a steady stream of conversation while the cousins worked. Stiles had just coaxed what looked like a hibiscus into blooming when he and Lydia both stilled. The two turned to each other in shock just before both of them slumped to the ground.

Derek and Laura were at their sides in seconds, Derek pulling Stiles into his lap and running fingers through his hair.

“Stiles? Stiles, look at me,” Derek said, sounding desperate. “Can you hear me?”

The young man's eyes fluttered, then opened, and Derek watched as Stiles blinked in confusion for a moment before focusing on Derek.

“Derek,” he croaked, only for both men to freeze in surprise.

Laura barked out a laugh, who roused Lydia enough for the other woman to open her eyes and mutter, “Stop being so loud.” She pushed herself up to glare at Laura with a huff. “What?”

“Lydia,” Stiles breathed, watching as dozens of flowers bloomed along the vines. “Lydia…”

“Oh.” Lydia let out a disbelieving laugh, “he’s dead? Finally?”

The two of them all but crawled over the Hales to reach each other, Lydia throwing herself into Stiles's arms and hugging him until they were both breathless. “Thank you for staying with me,” he murmured into her hair.

“Where else would I be, idiot?”

As one, the cousins turned to Derek and Laura and smiled. “Thank you,” Stiles said. “I can't wait to go outside,” Lydia added.

“How about we go to dinner, first? Derek suggested, pulling Stiles into tight embrace and leading him toward the door. “There are a lot of people who will be happy to see you.” Laura seemed only slightly less excited than Derek, pulling Lydia along as well.

Stiles and Lydia (and Derek and Laura) found themselves a little late to dinner when Stiles spotted Scott, his dearest childhood friend, at the end of a corridor and ran to him, screaming loudly enough to be heard on the other side of the palace. The two collapsed in a heap of limbs that only grew as more people added themselves to the laughing, crying pile of well-wishers, the Hales looking on fondly.

And if Derek and Stiles held hands under the dinner table that evening, no one commented on it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem "Mirrors at 4 a.m." by Charles Simic.
> 
> Next week: I've got good news and bad news. The good news is that I posted three week's worth of stuff this week; the bad news is that I did that because I'm not going to be posting again until June 27 (although I will respond to comments).
> 
> On June 27, I'll be posted the third parts to both of my ongoing series: the MCU Clint/Stiles crossover and the Peter/Stiles + ghost Allison fic.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


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